Metamorphosis
by vanityfair
Summary: A mysterious disease slowly kills a teenage girl while a mystery man tries to convince Cameron she's better off somewhere else. HouseCameron. Meant to read like an episode.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Another of my attempts at Housefic. Please note that the characters don't belong to me and that I have a degree in History not in medicine. I did my best with Google but if it sounds wrong, it probably is. Will eventually be House/Cameron, because I am hopelessly attracted to mentor/student, older man/younger woman pairings. Read, enjoy, and review. Thanks!

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* * *

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_I'm looking for attention  
Not another question  
Should you stay or should you go  
Well, if you don't have the answer  
Why you still standing here  
Hey,  
Just walk away_

"_It's seven-thirty five here on 93.6, your station with the latest and greatest hits. Now let's check on the weather…"_

Camille stopped the car, getting out and surveying the large house in front of her. A white picket fence enclosed the yard, with flowers poking through the slats. More flowers lined the walk up to the door. She didn't have to worry about these out here; the sprinklers were on a timer. They should be going off any min—cold water hit her in the face. She hurried up the walk, rummaging through her purse for the key Mrs. Denihan had given her as drops of water ran down her nose and dropped off the end.

Once inside, found a towel and dried off and then busied herself with what she came here to do. She let the dogs out and picked up the watering can. She wandered through the house, fingering the rich fabrics on the pristine bed in the master bedroom, the marble of the tub in the master bath. Mrs. Denihan loved plants and she had them everywhere.

She watered them all but the cacti. Eying them, she wasn't sure how much water they needed. She had watered them two days ago, and the Denihans were expected back in two more. Could they wait until then? She dipped a finger into their sandy soil to test it when a spiky spine pricked her. Camille pulled her hand back, and pulled out the pointed tip. Bringing her wrist to her mouth, she sucked at the pinprick of blood. That was it, no water for them.

She fed the dogs, hugged each of their furry necks, and then left for school. The extra money she earned from this job would pay for her prom dress this year—a pink confectionary delight of tulle and beads.

* * *

"8:00, Dr. House starts his shift."

"It's 8:15," the nurse answered. She didn't even look up from her chart. He scowled at her.

"It's 8:00," he insisted.

"8:17 and thirty three seconds." She looked up at him now, her eyes cold and unrelenting.

He hadn't seen her before, so she must be new. It looked like someone had warned her about him. Cuddy, most likely. He sized her up in a moment. Tall, black, and wearing scrubs with little pink bunnies on them. He guessed she believed in strict discipline and killing people slowly with her rich cooking. But she had a weakness. Everyone had a weakness. It was only a matter of figuring out what it was. Trying for the obvious one, he reached into his back pocket for his wallet and pulled out a bill.

"George here thinks it's closer to 8. You wouldn't want to argue with a president," he said, pushing the money across the counter. She took it with a smile. "Good," he continued. "8:00, Dr. House starts his shift."

She placed the bill in the pocket of her scrubs and said, "8:18, Dr House starts his shift. Patient in exam one." She handed him a chart.

He scowled. "I want my dollar back."

"I don't think so. It's buying me a cup of coffee this morning. A cup of coffee I am going to need to deal with you."

"Ah, Dr. House, I see you've met our new head nurse," he heard Cuddy come up behind him. He opened the file in an attempt to hide from her, but she came round and pulled it from in front of his face, pointing to the woman behind the counter.

"We've met."

"Yolanda, this is Dr. Gregory House. Dr. House this is Yolanda."

"A pleasure, I'm sure," the woman drawled. She was all smiles now that Cuddy was here. He forced a smile before walking away. Unfortunately, Cuddy followed him.

"I don't like her," he told her.

"I'm sorry, but your preferences don't factor in on my hiring choices," she said, sounding huffy. She always sounded huffy when she talked with him.

"Well they should."

"Actually, I did think of you on this one," she said.

House raised a questioning eyebrow. "Is that so? Are you trying to play matchmaker again? Because usually I like them younger and blonder." He leered at her in her lavender suit. She wore the usual low cut blouse underneath. Her breasts weren't as perky as Cameron's, but they came in a close second.

"I'm hoping you won't be able to intimidate her like you have the rest of the nursing staff."

"I don't know what you're talking about. They have nothing to fear from me," he said, meeting her eyes again.

"Right. As long as they don't talk to you and certainly if they don't mention that you might actually see some patients."

"Speaking of which, are we done here? I have a patient." He held up the chart in his hand to illustrate. Although on second thought…glancing at the it, he noticed pustules written in the complaint section.

"Actually I have a case for you," Cuddy said. Taking the chart from his hand and replacing it with another. He didn't protest. If she was coming to him with something it had to be something better. Perhaps not interesting per say, but anything was better than pustules.

"Who is it? Big donor to the hospital. You know if you get them to write us up in their will, it won't matter if I do a good job or not," he quipped. Cuddy just ignored him.

"Daughter of an old friend. She's been on antibiotics for an upper respiratory infection for three weeks now and hasn't gotten any better." House frowned. Definitely not interesting.

"Just take a look at her, will you?" He nodded, and shuffled off to room three, where, he looked at the file, Camille Brown, aged seventeen, waited for him.

Waiting for him in exam room three sat a tall, thin girl who looked nervous. Her mousy brown hair was tied back and she wore a pair of jeans and a sweater with a t-shirt underneath.

"I'm Dr. Greg House," he said, introducing himself. He held out his hand and she took it, barely flexing her fingers. She had dark circles under her eyes, but that didn't mean anything. She could have been up all night texting her boyfriend. He noticed the lime green cell phone that sat on the table beside her. Looked like she had an early start of it already.

"Camille," she said with a yawn.

"So are you pretending to get out of school or are you really sick?" She looked at him surprised. He loved that look. People never expected him to just come out and say what the most obvious, and usually least tactful thing.

"I'm really sick." She looked at him suspiciously.

"You can tell Uncle Greg. In fact, we could play hooky together. You like General Hospital?" She shook her head no. "Fine," he sighed. "What are your symptoms?"

"I've had a horrible headache for two weeks now. And I've been running a fever. The prom is coming up and I can't miss it."

"How high?" He rolled his chair over to the desk and pulled out the thermometer.

He pressed the button and shoved it in her mouth just as she responded with, "hawred ah too."

"102 fever, headache and chills. Sounds like the flu to me," he said, writing a prescription for an anti-viral. He exchanged the beeping thermometer for the script.

"I didn't say chills," she argued. What was with teenagers or human beings, for that matter, that they had to argue all the time?

"You didn't have to. The three layers of clothing you're wearing is fine for January, but it's the end of April."

"So that's it then?" she asked, looking at him skeptically. "Just the flu?"

"You were hoping for something a little more dramatic? Believe me, you'll get enough melodrama at the prom." He started out the door, leaving her there on the table, when he heard her gasp. Teenage girls were so sensitive. He bet Cuddy would be all over him for upsetting this girl in particular. He turned around to try and say something that insure she didn't run to mommy crying when he noticed she was still gasping. And grabbing at her throat like she couldn't breathe.

"Camille?"

"Can't…" she rasped, struggling for air. "Breathe."

"I need a nurse in here!" he yelled, hurrying over to the cabinet where the intubation tubes were stored. "Hold on," he said, trying to sound soothing. This would be easier if she could relax a little. But getting a panicking teenager to relax when they couldn't get a breath of air was nearly impossible.

He finally got her tubed with oxygen flowing to her brain and the rest of her body. He was closer to her now than he had been during the initial examination, and he noticed a few red spots on her neck. Pulling down a bit on her shirt, he could see they extended downwards. Respiratory distress and now a rash. This case had just gotten a little more interesting.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, he strode into the small conference room attached to his office. Cameron stood at the counter, mixing sugar into her coffee quietly. She had been more and more subdued lately when not talking about work. Trying to be all business in an effort to be taken more seriously, he guessed.

Chase sat at the table, pretending to read a journal article, but House could see his eyes drooping. Must have been a late night last night. And Foreman sat at his computer, checking his email.

"Got a case," he announced, tossing the chart on the table. Chase jumped, startled awake at his sudden appearance. Cameron turned and leaned back against the counter, watching and waiting. He met her gaze, trying to decipher what it meant. She no longer looked at him with unadulterated admiration. And the irritated looks were mostly gone now too. She just looked…he didn't know. And he didn't like not knowing. This was something that would require further investigation.

"Sounds like an allergic reaction to me," Foreman said, having picked up the chart and glanced at it.

"Yes, but to what?" he asked sarcastically.

"She's been taking antibiotics. Probably that," Foreman answered. He handed the chart to Chase to see. House sensed that he wasn't that interested.

"She stopped them five days ago. You don't think she would have had the acute reaction before now?" House picked up his marker and started writing out the symptoms on the white board.

_Headache_

_Chills_

_Rash_

_Respiratory distress_

"Could be something else," Chase commented.

House turned and glared at him, "Thank you for that brilliant thought. Anybody else got something to share. Cameron?"

"He's right, could be anything. A new pet. A change in diet. Has she been out of the country recently?" She took the chart from Chase. "It doesn't say here," she said, furrowing her brow. "Where's the history?"

"Didn't get one," he said. "But now that you mention it, that would be a good place to start. Cameron, you do a history. Foreman, you run all the normal tests, and Chase, I need you in the clinic."

The Australian doctor looked at him puzzled. "In the clinic?"

"Yes. And if a large black woman asks what your name is, you tell her it's Dr. House." Chase frowned but didn't protest. "Are we clear? Great, now go forth." He waved them out. It would be about an hour or two before he heard back from any one of them. Just long enough to catch a short nap.

* * *

"Do you think this is a wild goose chase?" Foreman asked as he and Cameron walked through the hallways of the hospital. He didn't like wasting his time on easy stuff like allergic reactions. He came to this hospital to build a reputation for himself, and simple cases like this just weren't going to cut it.

"Is it ever a wild goose chase with House?" she said. "You have to admit, he does have an innate sense. If he thinks it's more then it probably is." She said it as though it was a matter of fact. He looked her up and down, trying to determine if her past crush had anything to do with her opinion. She said she was over him, but did women ever get over anything?

Foreman frowned "That's it. That's all it takes to convince you. House said so."

"No, my past experience with him says so. Why do you care?" She stopped outside the patient's room.

"I just think we could be focusing on more important cases." Her eyes narrowed at that, and he knew he had hit a nerve.

"You don't think she's important?" she asked, her voice sharp and brittle. He glanced at the girl in the room. They had taken the tube out of her throat, but she was hooked up to oxygen and the nurses had an IV in her arm. She looked pale and a little tired, but nothing drastic. Mostly, she looked bored.

Foreman sighed. "Yes, she's important," he relented, "but she's not interesting, so why are we here?"

"If you'd rather be down in the clinic examining pustules, then by all means, page Chase and tell him to get up here. Don't think I saw how fast you ran upstairs when your beeper went off."

"That's when I thought it would be something more than allergies."

"I see, nothing you could write an article on, that it?" He definitely didn't want to go down that road again. Ignoring her question, he strode past her into the patient's room.

"Camille," he said, holding out his hand. "I'm Dr. Foreman and this is Dr. Cameron." He turned around to see Cameron follow him, looking irritated. "She's going to ask you some questions while I take some blood and urine, okay?" The girl just nodded, looking nervous.

"Where are your parents?" Cameron asked, looking around the room. It registered with Foreman that it was a bit odd not to have some mother flitting around and asking what they were doing and why they were doing it.

"I left school early to come to the doctor. I didn't think that I would… They don't know where I am." Tears started streaming down her face and her voice quivered. She started to tremble to where Foreman couldn't stick her properly. He looked up at Cameron with an expectant look, waiting for her to do something.

"That's alright, we can call them. Do you have the number?" Cameron asked. She wrote it down while Foreman took a blood sample. He had to admit it, her soothing tones and cooing over the girl did work to calm her down. He got the blood and urine, then took the phone number Cameron handed him, and left her to get the history.

* * *

"Do you know if there is any history of heart disease, diabetes, cancer, anything like that in your family?" Cameron pulled up the chair in the corner alongside the bed and pulled out her pen. She felt bad for the poor girl, all alone in the hospital, being poked and prodded, and having tubes shoved down her throat. She wondered if House had been any gentler with her than he was with anybody else. But that was an easy answer—no.

He had been looking at her strange this morning in the office. Her stomach had jumped, and her mind instantly betrayed her with thoughts that it might mean something. She had tamped down that though as soon as it appeared. He didn't like her, and had made it abundantly clear. Besides, she was with Neil now. Good, kind, dependable Neil.

"I—I don't know," the girl stammered in answer to her question, bringing Cameron back to the present situation. Camille sniffled some more, and Cameron handed her a tissue. "Is my mom here yet?" she asked.

"Dr. Foreman is calling her now. I'm sure she'll hurry over as soon as she gets the news. Now do you have any pets?"

Camille shook her head, "Mom's allergic." That was a start, family history of allergies. Someone who was allergic to cats didn't have to be around one, but just had to be in the same space one had been to have a reaction. She asked question after question, but she didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Camille was too distracted. She wouldn't look Cameron in the eye, and kept pulling at the neck of her hospital gown.

"Is something wrong?" Cameron asked finally, standing up so she could get a better view of Camille's chest.

"Bugs. There are bugs everywhere," Camille said, growing more frantic. She clawed at her arms and legs.

"Camille, there's nothing there. You're probably just a little itchy from the rash. I can get you some cortisone cream for that."

"Get them OFF of ME!" the girl screamed. She pulled at her hair.

"I need some help in here," Cameron yelled, grabbing Camille's arms and trying to keep her from ripping her IV out of her arm. Two nurses rushed in. One helped Cameron subdue the girl while the other pushed a syringe into her IV line. A few moments later, Camille fell back onto the bed, completely sedated.

She didn't get a history, but they had one new symptom to add to the list—hallucinations.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Still not a doctor. Read, review, and enjoy!

The familiar mixture of concern and giddiness flowed through House at Cameron's news of the new symptom. This was turning out to be more than just your normal allergic reaction. He set aside his cane, and grabbed his black marker, adding the latest hallucinations to the list.

"What's the differential?" he asked. Foreman and Cameron both sat at the table, looks of intense concentration as they focused on the whiteboard in front of them. But something was missing.

"Where's Chase?"

"Here," the blond doctor said, coming in the door. He sounded a little out of breath. "Yolanda, she's a taskmaster. If I was in a room more than fifteen minutes, she'd come knocking to see what was taking me so long."

"Better you than me," House said with a smirk. "We've got a new symptom we're discussing if you care to join us." Chase sat down. "What do the test results tell us?"

"She has an elevated white blood count and there's blood in her urine," Foreman reported, reading the reports he had just run.

"Could indicate acidosis. Goodpasture's Syndrome would explain the breathing problems and the bloody urine. It affects both the lungs and the kidneys," Chase said.

"That's getting a little ahead of ourselves, isn't it?" Foreman asked with a hint of condescension. "Neither one of those is very serious."

"Yet," Chase countered. "Catching it early is the patient's best chance of survival."

"But it doesn't explain the rash," Cameron interjected. "What about Typhoid? It explains the rash, delirium, and the elevated white count."

"Typhoid? Has she been to a third world country lately?" Foreman asked sarcastically. Cameron glared at him.

"I don't know. But even if she hasn't it could be a simple case of not washing her hands very well after using the bathroom. She's a teenager, for goodness sakes, they aren't exactly known for their phenomenal hygiene habits."

"She has a point there," House said, enjoying the battles back and forth. One point to Allison Cameron.

"What about infectious endocarditis?" Foreman asked, finally putting forth a diagnosis. He leaned back in his chair with a smug look.

"The spots would be on her palms and soles, not her chest and arms," Cameron said, shooting his theory down. Two points to Cameron. Beautiful and smart. It was a wonder no man had snapped her up yet. He dreaded the day someone came along and did just that. A married Cameron wouldn't be nearly as much fun as a single one was.

"Could be autoimmune," Foreman suggested. He refused to back down from Cameron. House liked that about him. Not afraid to keep plowing ahead. "Maybe lupus."

"Maybe?" House said mockingly.

"Fine, I think it's lupus.

"Cameron, you assist Chase on a lung biopsy. You won't find any damaged alveoli, but it won't hurt to look," House said, pointing his cane in her direction. "Foreman, you take a stool sample. When those come back with nothing, then you can test for lupus. And while you're at it, start her on a broad spectrum of antibiotics in case this is just a trifling case of bacteremia."

"You think this is blood poisoning?" Chase asked. "That usually only affects people with compromised immune systems."

"Which she has. You were too worried about the blood in the urine to notice she's diabetic."

"She didn't mention it," Foreman argued in a poor attempt to redeem himself. He grabbed back the test results from Cameron, looking for what he missed.

"Probably doesn't know yet. At the risk of sounding like Cameron, you should really give your full attention to every patient." Foreman had the sense to look contrite, but he was surprised that Cameron didn't look more smug. Or was that smugger?

"Start her on the antibiotics," he continued, "if I'm wrong we haven't done any harm. We did rule out a drug allergy, didn't we?" All three nodded. "Great, now get going."

They filed past him, all but Cameron. She stayed, her arms crossed across her chest. "You do remember I can't stay late tonight. I'm leaving early."

"Why? Got a hot date?" he asked sarcastically. She raised her chin and met his eyes with a cold stare.

"Actually, yes." Chase and Foreman paused in the doorway, waiting for her and watching the exchange.

"I meant for you to run those now," he snapped in their direction, pleased to see them hurry on out.

Cameron made to follow, but House stopped her, holding out his cane and blocking her path. He hated that he had to use it, but it came in handy in situations like this. That and it bought him a great parking space no matter where he went.

"I told you about this earlier in the week," she said, preempting his first question.

"I wasn't listening. How long have you been dating?" If it was just a second or third date there was nothing to worry about. He could page her halfway through dinner and be sure she'd come back. But what if it was something more serious?

"You care?" She sounded skeptical. He did, but he didn't want her to know that.

"Must be serious if you're willing to leave and jeopardize a patient's life like this."

"She has an infection," she said, trying to make her way around him, but he stepped in her way.

"Yes, but from what?" he insisted. He couldn't believe she would want to leave when things were just starting to get interesting.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out. You always do." She pushed past him this time.

"You never answered my question," he yelled after her. She ignored him, walking off in the direction of the lab. He watched her go, wondering who it was that could have captured her attention so thoroughly. Patients had always come first before, but now…

He pondered it for a moment, before remembering that General Hospital was on soon, and he should probably get back to the clinic. He didn't want to find out what Yolanda looked like angry. What he needed was an easy case he could stretch to an hour or two. He shuffled down the hall.

But Cameron's date niggled at his brain. He couldn't let it go. She hadn't said a word about dating any guy. Foreman or Chase might know, but then again she had distanced herself from them in regards to her private life recently. Wilson. Wilson would know. He was all warm and fuzzy—just the person at work she would feel like she could confide in. He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Wilson's number as he climbed on the elevator.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Do you know who's banging Cameron?"

"What?" House repeated himself, nodding at a passing nurse who shot him a nasty look. Delicacy was overrated.

"You know I'm at a conference right?" Wilson asked indignantly.

"A quick yes or no will get you right back to your mind numbing lecture on rectal cancer."

"No." The doors opened out into the clinic. House stepped out and made his way over to the nurse's station. The pile of charts sitting on the desk was not encouraging.

"No, you don't know? Or no, your lecture isn't mind numbing?"

"I don't know who she's banging as you so eloquently put it. What's interesting is why you care. What, you don't want her, but you don't want anyone else to have her either?"

This conversation wasn't going the way he wanted at all. Making crackling noises, he yelled into the receiver, "Oh, sorry. I'm losing you. Better to get back to your confer… Hello?"

A middle aged man in the waiting room looked at him oddly. "IRS. They won't leave me alone," he explained. The man nodded knowingly. "Course the tax evasion might have something to do with it."

House smiled and picked up the top chart. Mother in with her daughter complaining of persistent headaches. That one might take awhile and parents were overly protective of their children. Too much talking. He put it down.

Fishing around for something better, he came up with a sixteen year old boy with a sore throat, most likely strep. A quick swab and then maybe he could convince him to stay and watch TV while they waited for the test results. The kid wouldn't mind missing school and was old enough to have his mom wait in the sitting area.

"Troy Bennett?" he asked, looking around. A tall kid with floppy blond hair stood up.

"You're with me." He grabbed his cane and started off for exam room two, not bothering to see if the kid followed.

"Did you know your daughter is diabetic?" Foreman asked.

"No, that's impossible," Mrs. Brown.

"Has she lost weight in the last couple of months? Been very thirsty?"

"She's lost some weight, but I figured it was because she was getting taller. And she has been drinking more water, but I thought it was a good thing. They say to drink eight glasses a day," she said, sounding more and more panicked as she went. "How could I have missed…I thought this only happened to people who were overweight?"

"Your daughter has Type 1 diabetes, which can be hereditary. The body's pancreas doesn't produce enough glucose so it can't break down the sugars in your food," Foreman explained.

"Do you have a family history of diabetes?" Chase asked.

"No, but—" she stopped.

"But what?"

"I don't know her father's history," she whispered. Chase glanced at Foreman, raising an eyebrow.

"Your husband isn't Camille's father?" The answer was obvious, but Chase hoped to get some more answers out of her.

"I had trouble getting pregnant. We had to use a sperm donor," she confessed. "Is she going be alright?" She looked back at Camille sleeping on the bed with a worried glance. Unshed tears shone in her eyes.

Chase tried to be reassuring. "We're hoping these tests will tell us what's wrong."

"Does she know?" Foreman asked. Mrs. Brown frowned.

"She is mine and my husband's child. No one else's. A stranger just donated his DNA, that's all," she said fiercely. Chase nodded, grabbing Foreman and leaving. They didn't have time for a nature versus nurture debate at the moment. They had tests to run.

A knock came at the door. House ignored it. It became more persistent.

"I think someone is at the door," the kid said.

"If we ignore it, they'll go away," he answered, never taking his eyes off the small TV. But they didn't. The door opened. Yolanda stood there with a chart in her hand and woman hiding behind her.

"Dr. House will see you now," the nurse said. She strode in, holding out the chart.

"I'm already with a patient," he snapped.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked the boy.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Cancer?"

Yolanda looked at House sharply. He let out a long-suffering sigh. "More like strep throat. We're waiting for the test to come back."

"Well, while you're waiting you can see…" she glanced down at the chart, "Mrs. Henderson here. Daughter is complaining of headaches."

"Can't this wait for a commercial?"

"Not really."

"Isn't there someone else we could see?" the mother asked nervously.

"I'm with her," he said, still watching the TV. He couldn't see Yolanda frowning but he imagined it was fierce.

"I thought you were tired of waiting. You want to be seen, start talking. And you—" she hit on the head with the chart—"turn that thing off and listen to her." He jumped, grabbing his head even though it hadn't really hurt. It was the principle of the thing. Nurses weren't allowed to go around hitting doctors. Anarchy would break out if they were.

"She's having headaches everyday. We thought maybe it was her eyes so we took her to an optometrist, but he said her eyes were fine. She complains everyday that she doesn't want to go to school…"

"And you're tired of her whining?" he interrupted. "Believe me, I know the feeling." House glanced back at them. The girl looked about twelve. She wore a plaid skirt and a blue oxford shirt. And her hair…her hair was braided. Looked thick too.

"Where does it hurt, behind the eyes, the temples, or all over?" Yolanda looked satisfied at his show of interest. She tossed the chart on the exam table and left, leaving the mother and daughter standing there looking awkward.

"She says it hurts…"

"I asked her, not you." He hated mothers. They never let the kids talk or if they did the kids didn't want to tell him the truth because their mom was standing right there.

"All over," the girl answered meekly.

"Get better at night after school?" She nodded. His attention turned back to the TV. "You see her," he pointed out to the boy, "she's engaged to the head doctor, but she's slee…"

"Excuse me, but are you going to help my daughter or not?" the mother asked impatiently. House looked over at her, irritated by the constant interruptions when he was obviously trying to watch his show.

"Stop braiding her hair." He turned back to the show. There was a stunned silence, and for the first time in five minutes he could actually hear the dialogue clearly.

"That's it?" the mother asked finally.

"You're still here?" he asked, looking back. "Yes, that's it. If she's not feeling better in three days, come back and ask for Dr. Cuddy."

"I thought your name was Dr. House."

"It is," he said, waving his hand in dismissal. Finally, she nodded and ushered the girl out of the room. Not that it mattered now that a commercial had finally come on. He sighed and reached for his pill bottle. Before he could get to it though, his beeper shrieked.

"Gotta go," he said to the boy. "Take notes. I want a full update when I get back."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Still not a doctor. Read, review, and enjoy!

* * *

"Tests came back negative," Foreman said. They were gathered again around the whiteboard, staring at it like it might hold the answers.

"What about the antibiotics?" House asked.

"She's stable but not getting any better," Cameron told him. He tapped out a beat on the floor with his cane and considered the possibilities. Antibiotics were helping but only some.

"Take her off of them," he said.

"So all of her symptoms come back?" Chase asked. "Why not wean her off them one at a time to figure out which one is helping."

"Because she's been on three different ones before she got here and never got better. They're slowing down whatever it is she has, but they're also masking whatever it is."

"Could be a genetic disease. The mother mentioned that she had in vitro fertilization using a sperm donor," Chase said. House furrowed his brow. That didn't sound right.

"Porphyria fits," Cameron said.

"No numbness in her extremities," Foreman countered.

"Yet," she argued.

"Isn't it odd that a man with a history of diabetes was allowed to donate sperm?" House interrupted. They both stopped and stared at him. "Even stranger if it turns out to be porphyria."

"Maybe he lied," Chase suggested.

"Or maybe she did," House said, starting for the door. He wanted to find out for himself since none of his fellows could pick up on subtlety if it kicked them in the face. All three followed him out the door and down the hall.

"So she lied to her husband and daughter. What does that have to do with the case?" Foreman asked.

"If she lied about a big thing, like who her daughter's daddy is, then it's likely she won't have a hard time lying about the small things. Best to find out now."

He approached a woman standing outside the patient's room. She stood, biting her nails, looking through the glass. "Mrs. Brown?" he asked.

"Who are you?" she asked, turning towards him.

"Dr. House. Who's her dad?" he asked, motioning his head toward where Camille lay in bed in the next room.

"Excuse me?"

"Dr. House is just trying to figure out…" Cameron started to say. She had a bad habit of apologizing for him. If he wanted to phrase it gentler, he would.

"Mr. Brown isn't her father. I need to know who is. It's relevant to her case."

"I thought I already explained…"

"You lied. Your daughter has diabetes. She might have another genetic disease that is killing her. You're either not telling the truth or you're incredibly stupid for picking the absolutely worst sperm donor ever." She looked at him flabbergasted. "So which is it?"

A man walked up and put his arm around her waist. Mr. Brown, House presumed. His chance at getting the truth was gone.

"How is she?" he asked, looking between his wife and House.

"Getting worse," House answered, staring coldly at the mother. She avoided his gaze. "She might die if we don't have all the information we need."

"You have all the information you need," Mrs. Brown said firmly. House could see she wasn't going to give in this time. So he upped the ante.

"Take her off the antibiotics," he told his team. "All of them," he said, looking at Chase.

"You're taking her off the medication?" the not-father asked confused. "Won't that make her worse?"

"That's what I'm hoping," House said. And then he hobbled off, leaving Cameron to explain what he meant to the sputtering Mr. and Mrs. Brown.

* * *

House was in his office with his eyes closed and his legs propped up on his desk. He heard the door swing open and footsteps. There were only one set, so it wasn't Chase, Cameron, or Foreman. Wilson was at a conference today, which only left Cuddy.

"I don't know what _Yolanda_ told you, but I'm already working on a case," he said, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Yolanda?" a voice asked, a very masculine voice. Definitely not Cuddy. House opened his eyes to see a tall man with messy brown hair, green eyes, dressed in a dark suit. He looked like a banker or an insurance salesman, something boring at any rate.

"You're not Cuddy."

"No," the man said, holding out his hand. "Neil Jackson."

House looked him up and down, ignoring the outstretched hand. "Who are you? Or more importantly, what do you want? As you can see, I'm a very busy man."

Neil dropped his hand, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I'm looking for Allison, or Dr. Cameron rather. We have a dinner date tonight."

"Aha, so you're the mystery man," House exclaimed. He swung his legs down, grabbed his cane, and stood. Reaching into his pocket, he took out his pill bottle. "Want one?" he offered. Neil shook his head.

"You must be Dr. House. Allison has told me a lot about you." House didn't like the sound of that, but he didn't get the chance to say anything as Cameron came in the room. She wore a stunning little black dress with a plunging neckline, showing a tantalizing amount of her cleavage. Her legs went on forever, ending in strappy black heels. He couldn't help but stare. God, she was gorgeous.

"You were supposed to wait for me outside," she admonished Neil. She came up beside him, smoothing his shirt, and pecking him on the cheek. House narrowed his eyes, gripping his cane a little tighter.

"I've just met your date for the night. Looks like a nice guy. And perfectly healthy," he said. "That's the part that puzzles me."

He couldn't help himself. The guy was obviously a complete putz. Cameron was much too good for him. She needed someone who would challenge her. Someone who would make sure she didn't spend all of her money on feeding African orphans or take herself too seriously.

"I don't understand," Neil said, looking back and forth from Cameron to House. They stared at each other, her eyes fuming with anger while his reflected amusement.

"No, you wouldn't," House said, looking away from Allison to Neil. So she hadn't told him about her dead husband. Not as serious as he thought then. It was a good sign.

"Where are you going?" he asked, changing the topic and trying to sound nonchalant. He could see he had fooled Neil, but Cameron looked suspicious. She might have told Neil a few things about her boss, but her past feelings for him didn't seem to be one of them. Had she told him anything about herself?

"The Maisonette," Neil said, smiling at Cameron. An expensive restaurant. He was trying to impress her, or…perhaps there was something else. Some sort of bad news to deliver, and he was hoping a nice dinner out would soften the blow.

"So when's the big move?" House asked him. He didn't like the possessive way Neil put his arm around Cameron's waist.

"Moving? What are you talking about?" He let out a brittle laugh, giving Cameron a look that clearly said, 'your boss is a weirdo.'

"Your watch is three hours behind, which means you haven't been spending much time in New Jersey. And there's a mustard stain on your tie. Which means you're a slob—doubtful because that's not Allison's type—or that you didn't have anything to change into. I'd say because you've packed up most of your clothes already." The stunned look on Neil's face was worth the glare that Cameron shot his way. He looked back and forth between House and Cameron with disbelief.

"I—I was going to tell you at dinner tonight," he stuttered. Cameron narrowed her eyes, not at Neil, but at House. He merely shrugged his shoulders. Maybe now he could convince her to stay and run that blood test.

"LA?" she asked.

"I got the job! And—" he paused. House held his breath and waited for the next part. This was almost as much fun as watching General Hospital. "I want you to come with me. I love you, Allison."

And now for her reaction. She would say no of course. "I don't think we should discuss this here…" she started.

"You don't want to come to LA with me?" Neil said, completely ignoring her. Points off for that. House decided to jump in. It was no fun just standing here when he could mix things up even more.

"She can't leave us here. We need her. I need her." He could see the surprise register on her face, but it was quickly replaced with anger.

"I think maybe you should wait in the car, Neil. I'll be right out, I just need to grab a few things," she said tersely. She pecked him on the cheek again, and whispered something in his ear. House just stood and watched as he went. The minute he was out the door, she turned around and faced him, her eyes flashing and her fists clenched.

"I should piss you off more often. Has anyone ever told you you're breathtaking when you're angry?" he said before she could start her tirade.

"Stop this. Stop this now."

"Stop what exactly?"

"You had your chance. And you rejected me. You. Rejected. Me," she repeated for emphasis. "Don't sabotage the one relationship I've had in years that has any potential to go somewhere."

"Go somewhere. I suppose by that you mean LA," he retorted.

"Maybe I should go." And then she turned and left. That was unexpected. And not what he wanted. He fell back into his chair. He tried not to imagine her climbing into the car with that idiot. Tried not picture her sipping her wine while he ever so suavely put his hand on her knee. Or what they might do afterwards. Damn, that dress had looked good on her. Gritting his teeth, he rested his head in his hands. She didn't mean it. She couldn't leave. She loved her job. She loved…

"Camille's worse," he heard Chase say, interrupting his morose thoughts. House hadn't even heard him come in.

"What's wrong now?"

"Rectal bleed. Her kidneys are failing." He looked up to see Chase and Foreman both standing in front of his desk.


	4. Chapter 4

House looked in on the girl lying in the hospital bed sedated, the blinds bisecting her and the worried parents who sat by her bedside. Camille was getting worse and they didn't know what was causing it. Mrs. Brown noticed him standing there and furrowed her brow before taking her husband and daughter's hands in her own.

"It could be environmental," Foreman suggested, standing behind him. House nodded.

"Start her on dialysis and then check the house. And someone page Cameron." 

The two men hurried off with their tasks at hand. House went into the room.

"Your daughter is getting worse," he told the parents. "And she will continue to get worse unless we have all the information we need."

"You have all the information you need," Mrs. Brown insisted.

Mr. Brown looked from his wife to House with a confused look. "What's going on here?" he asked.

"Your daughter is diabetic and she might have another genetic disease. I need an accurate family history in order to rule that out."

"Genetic disease? But we don't have anything that runs in either of our families," Mr. Brown protested.

"I don't care about your family. I care about her—" House pointed to Camille, "family."

"The donor? But we saw their medical histories. That means—did you?" Mr. Brown turned to his wife, his face contorting with rage.

"Thanks for joining me," House said sarcastically.

"How dare you!" Mrs. Brown screeched. "How dare you come in here and accuse me of an affair with no other evidence than that my daughter is ill!"

"Does this mean you're sticking with your story of the sperm donor?" House asked.

"Get out!" Mr. Brown said, stepping forward. House took one last glance at Camille and then her mother, and then complied.

He stopped by his office and grabbed his stethoscope. It would be awhile before his underlings came back with anything relevant to the case. There was no sense in wasting what little time he had.

Hobbling down the hall, he tried to look inconspicuous as he entered the locker room. Three from the right on the top he knew was Cameron's. A few minutes later and he was in. 

There were a few books he had seen her reading around the office – Tuesdays with Morrie and Confessions of a Shopaholic, proving once and for all that her literary tastes were absolutely atrocious. Her lab coat hung in the back corner and he noticed she kept some toiletries handy for touchups on the nights he kept her late. It didn't take much rummaging before he found an envelope with Cameron's looping scrawl.

Tearing into it, he pulled out a note on lavender paper.

_Don't you have better things to do than going through my locker, House?_

Damn! She knew him too well. How had that happened?

He trudged back to his office to find Cuddy waiting for him. "Did you accuse my friend of having an affair? Do you know how long it took them to even get pregnant? How much heartbreak she went through before Camille came along." Her shrill voice hurt his ears, making him scowl.

"Would you pick the sperm donor with Type 1 diabetes? Or are you more the Porphyria type? Or how about something that kills you faster?" he asked her as he made his way to his desk. "It's much more likely that half of her daughter's genes were chosen on old fashioned criteria."

"Don't mention it to them again, House. I'm warning you, if you do—"

He cut her off. "She might die because I don't have all the information."

"Even if she did have an affair—" House raised his eyebrows. Was that an admission of guilt? Cuddy glared at him. "If, she had an affair, and I'm not saying she did, do you think she asked for a medical history beforehand."

"If she was being responsible," he said glibly.

"Do you?" Cuddy asked. House thought about his most recent nighttime visitor and shook his head. Satisfied with his answer, Cuddy finally left.

He leaned back in his chair. Taking his red ball in his hands, he considered what he knew about the case. Cuddy was right, the sperm donor/possible affair probably didn't have anything to do with it, but still, it was interesting. And he liked interesting.

He needed to wait to see what Foreman and Chase found out. And while he waited, he beeped Cameron. Again and again. Every three minutes for over an hour.

"Your typical all-American upper middle class white girl," Foreman said, surveying a room done in purple and white. A teddy bear sat perched on the bed and an Orlando Bloom poster hung on the wall.

"You think the mum really had an affair?" Chase asked Foreman. Foreman shrugged his shoulders and started going around the room. Chase found her backpack and opened it.

"I think it doesn't matter as much as House thinks it does. He just likes to get reactions of out people. She's allergic to something. We just have to find out what it is."

"Out of an infinite possibilities," Chase said skeptically. Personally, he thought this was a wild goose chase. And he was always on edge when they went to people's houses. You never knew if a neighbor might call the police or a relative they didn't know about might show up. He'd caught a woman in the shower once going in the wrong apartment. House had never let him live that down.

"That's why we're here," Foreman answered. "To narrow them down."

He rummaged through the Camille's bedside drawer, finding several intricately folded notes from friends, three paint pens, and a dime bag. He held it up for Chase to see.

"Like I said, typical," he told Chase.

"Could be something toxic mixed in," Chase suggested. Foreman nodded and bagged it.

"Find anything else?"

"Just that she likes Harry Potter and thinks she's fat," Chase said.

"How do you figure that?" Foreman asked. He rifled through some papers on her desk—just some Trig homework and a flier about a band concert.

"Found these in her book bag," he said, holding up a bottle of diet pills.

"Let's get them back to the lab."

House had stopped paging Cameron an hour after Foreman and Chase returned with their bag of goodies. Though she surprised him by coming in looking resigned rather than angry. He decided he preferred her angry. She didn't say anything as she took the stuff from Foreman and made her way down to the lab.

House couldn't leave it at that. He needed to know what she had decided.

"I knew it. I knew you couldn't leave this," he said, coming up behind her. He leaned one arm against the counter, his arm grazing hers. He could smell her lavender shampoo, and if he leaned a little closer he would feel the softness of her hair on his cheek. She stiffened, and then turned around to face him.

"I told him yes."

"What?" he breathed. Those were the last words he expected to hear from her. 

"I think maybe…maybe I need a change of scenery." Change. He hated change. But it was inevitable. But this one. He didn't know if he could live with this one. She had become a part of his life, as much as Wilson or Cuddy or this hospital. He complained about all of them, but they were his life. And so was she.

And then he did the unthinkable. Unthinkable because if he had thought about it he might have chickened out. He kissed her, leaned in, and brushed his lips against hers.

"Stay," he whispered, pulling back. Her eyes stayed closed, giving him no clue to how she felt or what she might say. He waited for what felt like an eternity for her to answer him.

"He wants a house, and kids—" she stammered. She opened her eyes, but she refused to look him in the eye. He stood and stared at her while she rambled on.

"He said he would work and I could stay home. Or if I wanted, I could open my own practice. He doesn't care as long as I come with him. He wants me with him."

"I want you here."

The machine behind them beeped before she could reply, before she could reject him outright, crushing his last best chance at finding love, he thought melodramatically. Apparently, he'd been watching too much General Hospital. Cameron turned to read the results. Her frown could mean anything.

"What's it say?" he asked.

"Tests are negative," she said. "It's not the weed or the diet pills. We're back at the beginning."

That gave him an idea that set him off running, or as fast he could move with a bum leg and a cane, down the hall.

"Where are you going?" Cameron called out after him.

"Back to the beginning," he yelled back.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Still not mine. Still not a doctor. Read, review, and enjoy!

* * *

He had kissed her. She could hardly believe it. The one thing she had wanted until three months ago. And now he was running away. Cameron sprinted down the hall after House. Even though she was still wearing impossibly high heels from her date, it didn't take long for her to catch up to him at the elevator.

"House! What are you thinking?" she asked. She knew that look. He only got it when he had an epiphany about the case.

"It would take too long to explain. Come on," he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the elevator car. She followed him, her spine tingling when she realized he wasn't letting go of her hand, in fact he gave it a little squeeze.

"About what happened back there—" House didn't let her finish.

"Not now, Dr. Cameron. Making out in the elevator is one of my fantasies too, but we have a patient to cure.

"House," she said in a warning tone. But he ignored her like usual. The bell chimed and the elevator door opened. Her hand still encased in his, he dragged her down the hall to Camille's room, only letting go as they entered.

"What do you want now?" Mr. Brown demanded. House didn't acknowledge him, but turned to Camille.

"What was your first symptom?" he asked.

"Huh?" Camille said, still groggy from the sedative they had given her after the hallucinations had started. Cameron felt bad for her. It wasn't pleasant being a patient of House.

"Was it the fever, headache, cough, or the rash? What was first?" House asked again.

Camille furrowed her brow while she tried to think about it. "The rash," she answered.

House shuffled closer. Cameron stayed at the end of the bed and watched. Even after several years of working with him, his abrupt style combined with his diagnostic genius never failed to impress her.

"Where? On your chest? Or somewhere else?"

"My arm," Camille said, pointing to her right wrist. House took it in his hand.

"What the hell?" he whispered.

Cameron took a step forward. "What is it?"

He held up Camille's wrist for her to see. She had a black spiky growth coming out of an oozing sore.

"I don't know," he said.

* * *

House had never seen anything like it. It scared him. And it thrilled him.

He was like a kid at Christmas waiting for Cameron to test the sample they had taken from Camille's arm.

"So what is it?" he asked when she lifted her head from the microscope.

"They're plant cells," Cameron said, looking confused. House didn't blame her. He had never seen anything like this either. It sounded like something from Ripley's Believe It or Not, or possibly something from the internet.

"How the hell did they get in her arm?" Foreman asked.

"Hand me her planner," Chase told Cameron. She handed him a pink furry book with a calendar inside. "Water Denihan's plants 7:30," he read. "She must have pricked her arm on a thorn or something."

"Or something?" Foreman asked skeptically. He never did appreciate the truly odd and obscure cases.

"So there you go," House said, "The body is a happy go lucky teenage girl getting along just fine when suddenly something completely new and foreign is introduced, something the body isn't used to. So it fights back."

"But the body is too weak. Its immune system is compromised," Cameron chimed in.

House smiled at her indulgently. "And…"

"And her vital organs started to shut down," Foreman finished. "But how do we stop it?"

"Weed killer?" House suggested. Foreman shot him a disdainful look.

"There's only one thing to do," House declared, swinging his arms dramatically. This was his favorite part.

Foreman, Chase, and Cameron stared at him, waiting expectantly. He furrowed his brow at them. They were really slow sometimes.

"Aren't you going to ask me what?" he said with feigned impatience.

"What's that?" Chase said obediently. Just like a trained collie, House thought. Although not as cute.

"Cut off her arm." He started off down the hall to inform the parents. He envisioned their shocked faces when he delivered the news.

"What?" Cameron gasped. House heard her heels clicking as she hurried to catch up.

"House, you can't cut off her arm because you think that's where the infection started. It's already spread," Foreman argued. He too was right behind House. He weaved in front of him right before he could enter the Camille's room, holding up an arm to stop him from entering.

"We treated her for infection but it didn't get any better because the source of the problem is still there. We take care of the root of the problem, pun intended, and then we can treat the rest of her," House said. "Book an OR."

He left them to it, knowing that it wouldn't be long before Cuddy was breaking down his door over it. He estimated two hours.

* * *

"We can't let him do this," Foreman insisted. He looked from Cameron to Chase and from Chase to Cameron. Cameron nodded in agreement. Chase looked skeptical.

"If we don't get all the foreign cells out, then they will just reproduce all over again," Chase said. "We can't let that happen."

"Shouldn't we at least try to get them all before going straight to lopping off her hand," Cameron said.

Chase sighed, but he reached over, picked up the phone, and handed it to Foreman. Foreman grimaced, but took it. It was his turn to tattle.

* * *

It turned out to be only forty-five minutes as he hobbled down the hall on his way to the cafeteria for a sandwich.

"House!" Cuddy yelled at him from down the hall. He tried walking faster but she caught up with him, another one lost to his bum leg. He cursed under his breath.

Turning around to face her, he cut her off before she could start, "Who told you? Chase? You can't believe anything he says. He's not even American."

"It was Foreman," she said.

"Have you seen his record?" House asked, heading for the elevator. She wasn't going to talk him out of this, not if she wanted to see her friend's daughter survive anyway.

"You can't amputate a patient's arm on a hunch, House!" Cuddy followed him onto the elevator.

"If I don't cut off her hand, she's going to start growing a rainforest out of her chest! If it's the tree-huggers you're worried about, don't worry, I can handle them." He shook his cane menacingly at a nurse, who furrowed her brow and took a step back.

"I mean it, House," Cuddy said. He knew that what she really meant was that he needed to reconsider and if he still thought it was necessary then she would "let" it happen. Though it wouldn't stop her from complaining about his recklessness later.

"Did you see the branch growing out of her arm?" House asked. "It's only a matter of time before it sprouts leaves."

"There has to be something else you can do," she insisted.

"Fire Yolanda and I'll consider it," House said.

"No!"

House glared at her and got off the elevator. He was never reckless with patient's lives, daring maybe, but if they came to him, then they were desperate to begin with. And desperate times called for desperate measures.

He shuffled down the hall to Camille's room and stared in the window. She was so young. Cuddy could be right. It could be too much. How would the loss of her hand affect the rest of her life? He squeezed his cane a little harder, thinking about his leg.

Of course if they didn't amputate her hand and they couldn't stop the sepsis, then she might die, and hand or no hand it wouldn't matter. Her body was fighting a losing battle.

"House, are you sure this is the right thing to do?" Cameron asked. He hadn't even realized she was standing behind him until she spoke. He looked over at her. She stood looking up at him with those big brown eyes of hers.

"There's an intruder in her body. Foreign cells who have settled in and are trying to make her arm home, maybe later they'll try to lure it off to join the circus." Unable to look at Cameron anymore, he looked back at Camille. Her mother held her hand in hers, watching over her while she slept.

"Are we still talking about the patient?"

"Of course we are, Dr. Cameron," he said stressing the doctor. "We just need to cut out the bad cells and send them packing back to LA." He didn't let her finish, but walked back towards his office.

"We should talk about this," Cameron said behind him.

"Later," he said. Reaching the conference room, he opened the door and stuck his head in. "Chase!"

The blond doctor glanced up from the magazine he sat reading. "Go after just the plant cells first. If that doesn't work, then we'll consider amputation."

"Uh, right," Chase answered. Foreman nodded his agreement from the corner. House scowled. He hated when they were right. Lucky for him that didn't happen often. And it was still likely Camille wouldn't be leaving with her right hand.

* * *

Camille was in the OR. Yolanda had gone home for the day. And Cuddy was shuffling through paperwork in her office, which left House with little to do. Normally, he would take a nap or try and catch a rerun of Friends on his portable TV, but right now he needed advice. He needed to talk to Wilson.

But all three of his underlings were in the conference room. And since he was hiding from Cameron, he couldn't very well phone Wilson in his office. Shutting himself in the closet, House pulled out his phone and rang Wilson. He picked up after three rings.

"I'm still at a conference, House."

"I kissed her," he confessed. He knew cutting to the chase would reel him in, and he wasn't disappointed.

"You did what?" Wilson asked disbelievingly.

"I pressed my lips to hers in a loving and passionate embrace," House said sarcastically. "I kissed her, you moron. And then I told her I wanted her to stay."

A janitor opened the door and looked at House quizzically. House scowled. Placing his hand over the phone, he leaned his head out of the closet. "Excuse me, having a private conversation here. Do you mind?"

Grabbing the door handle, he pulled it shut with a bang, leaving the poor janitor standing there aghast.

"And?" Wilson asked.

"And what?" House shifted to keep his leg from getting numb, knocking a roll of toilet paper off the shelf and onto his head. Next time, he was just kicking the kids out of the conference room to have these sorts of calls.

"What did she say?" Wilson was nearly hyperventilating by now. House could hear the other oncologists in the background shushing him.

"We didn't really get to that part. Though her new boyfriend has asked her to move to LA with him." It hurt even to say it.

"House, you have to find out what she wants. Now, right now."

"Right now I'm in a closet," House said.

"Go talk to her and then call me," Wilson said and then he hung up. House stared at the phone. He knew that Wilson was right. Although… Wouldn't it be easier to convince Ned or Neil or whatever his name was to leave Cameron alone rather than try to convince her to stay with him? He picked up his phone again and this time he dialed information.

"What city please?" a nasally voice asked.

"Princeton," House said. "I need the number for Neil Jackson."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Not mine. Not a doctor. Please review.

* * *

It only took a few more than twenty calls to find the right Neil Jackson and deliver the bad news.

"I've got the test results back for Allison Cameron. Is she there?" House asked.

"No, she isn't. What test results?"

House hesitated, hoping the idiot would for the bait. "Sorry, sir. Only authorized to give the results to Ms. Cameron or a family member."

"She left this phone number for you to contact?" Neil asked.

"Yes, sir," House said, rolling his eyes.

"I'm a family member – husband actually. You can tell me."

House smirked and leaned back against the shelf. Another roll of toilet paper crashed down on his head, but he hardly noticed. "Well, the herpes came back positive and so did the Chlamydia. You might want to get checked out yourself."

He knew he should stop there, but he couldn't help himself. House continued, "Unless you already know you're positive. You weren't the one that gave her the clap, were you?"

The sarcasm was just enough that even Cameron's dense boyfriend caught on. "Is this Dr. House?" Neil demanded.

"Doctors don't make these sorts of calls. They leave that to us monkeys in the lab."

"Allison warned me about you. I thought she might have been exaggerating about her big bad boss, but it sounds like she understated things."

"Oh is that right?" House asked. What a sanctimonious, arrogant prick! How could Cameron put up with that, he wondered. She could have sanctimonious and arrogant without the prick part with him.

"She's coming to LA with me," Neil informed him.

"Do go on," House said, egging him on. He needed more information than that, something he could work with.

"If you hadn't interrupted us I would have given her a plane ticket to join me tomorrow," Neil said, growing angrier.

"Sorry, patient dying and all that. Besides, Cameron loves me. Always has," House said, remaining calm.

"Allison, her name is Allison," Neil said.

"Allison, Cameron, sweet cheeks, or whatever else I call her won't be joining you tomorrow"

"We'll see about that," Neil said, hanging up the phone.

Oh yes they would. He left his hiding spot in the closet and made his way back to the conference room.

* * *

Cameron sat staring at one of the many medical journals House subscribed to, staring but not really reading. He had kissed her. Kissed her! And told her he wanted her to stay. She could hardly concentrate on Camille because of it. A girl lay on an operating table, her very life on the line, and all Cameron could think about was a kiss. And how much she wanted another one.

And then she remembered Neil. She should call him. He had been so valiant at the restaurant when she told him she had to go. He hid his initial look of disappointment with a smile, patting her arm and telling he understood how important her work was. He was a kind man, a gentle man. And most importantly a stable man – something she had never had before.

She reached for her purse to pull out her phone when House sauntered in, looking smug.

"Can I borrow your phone?" he asked, holding his out. "Mine's dead."

She looked at him puzzled. "Why not just use the desk phone?"

"Long distance. Cuddy would kill me if she saw the charges. You've got free long distance nights and weekends, right?" Cameron nodded. "So it's after seven, come on," he said, holding out his hand expectantly. She dropped the phone into his palm, a little disconcerted at his smile. He was up to something, she just knew it.

He started to walk away, but then turned and looked down at her again. "Since when did you read Spanish?" he asked, pointing at the medical journal in front of her.

"I—since now," she stammered. Too distracted, she hadn't even noticed.

* * *

With Cameron's phone in hand, House retreated back into his office. He opened his bottom drawer and dropped the cell in. He smiled an evil smile, hearing its muted ring tone. Probably Neddie boy calling to warn Cameron about him. Too bad she wasn't there to take the call.

Swiveling around in his chair, he logged onto the internet and searched for Delta Airlines. He had a plane ticket to find and cancel before he went home.

Mission Cancel Neil's Hopes of Ever Convincing Cameron to Go to LA with Him solidly started, House went home after midnight only to have Chase call at six in the morning.

"What?' he groaned sleepily into the receiver.

"Camille came out of surgery, but her kidney function isn't any better. And now her lungs are going too."

"Get the parent's consent and then book the OR. I'll be in an hour," he told Chase. He hung up and grabbed a shirt and a pair of pants off the chair in the corner. They smelled slightly clean. He didn't bother with a shower.

"Dr. House, arrives at 7:30," Yolanda said, greeting him as he came through the door. "We might get along after all." Her purple scrubs featured hearts today. It made him sick.

"Dr. House has a patient already," he told her, sweeping by the nurse's station. Lucky for him, Chase met him in the lobby so it looked like the truth.

"I suppose you're not working today either, Mr. Australia?" Yolanda asked, her hand on her hip.

"He's with me," House answered before Chase could say anything. "What's going on?" he asked. Yolanda turned back to her desk in a huff.

"Parents won't sign the papers. They insist there has to be another way," Chase said. He looked awful, like he hadn't been home. Probably hadn't actually.

House sneered. "Of course there's another way. We let her die. Did you explain that to them?"

"Dispassionate sarcasm is your area of expertise, not mine," Chase said. He sounded tired.

House grabbed the file and headed for the elevator. "Then watch and learn."

Chase hurried to catch up. "So, Mr. Australia, huh?" House asked.

Chase just cleared his throat and pretended not to hear him.

"Where's Foreman and Cameron?"

That question he seemed to hear. "They're on their way," Chase answered.

* * *

Upstairs, House took off his coat, deposited it on his chair, and headed down the hall to Camille's room. She lay in the bed sedated. The mother sat in the chair next to the bed, clutching her daughter's hand. The not-father paced in the corner, rubbing his chin.

"So who here understands that not doing the amputation means you're daughter will die, raise your hand," he said boldly. He raised his hand and looked around. Both parents looked at him in shock. He figured they hadn't slept all night. But still, it wasn't a hard concept to grasp.

He lowered his arm. "Let me explain it to you again. Amputate hand, daughter lives. Leave hand where it is, foreign cells continue to reproduce, organs continue to shut down, including the heart and brain and your daughter dies. Sign the papers," he said, holding out the file and a pen.

"C—can we speak outside," Mrs. Brown asked. House sighed, but nodded.

"My daughter isn't getting better. I thought the surgery was supposed to help," Mrs. Brown said with desperation in her voice when they reached the hall.

"We need to amputate her hand," he told her dispassionately. Wasn't that what he said in the first place? He shouldn't have let Cuddy talk him out of it. She might need a kidney transplant now.

"How could something like this have happened?"

"The diabetes compromised Camille's immune system. Her body couldn't fight back."

Mrs. Brown nodded. She glanced through the window at her daughter and husband and then turned back to House. "He was my personal trainer. I was so tired of mechanical sex for the sole purpose of getting pregnant and then the doctor visits with all of the injections and procedures." She paused. House waited for her to finish.

"I thought—I thought he was injecting himself with steroids, but now I realize it must have been insulin. I didn't know. I didn't know."

"You couldn't have known. Life's a crap shoot," House told her, but it didn't appear to be of much comfort.

"How can I face my husband? How do I tell him?"

"Don't. He seems content in not knowing and you can be content in not telling. You'll have a lot to distract you with your daughter's new diet and physical therapy. You can't change the past." He hoped, however, that he could change the future.

"But she'll get better?"

"A new hand and possibly a new kidney and she'll be right back to sneaking out to smoke weed with her friends."

"My daughter doesn't do drugs," Mrs. Brown said, sounding more like herself. House shrugged and didn't bother arguing with her. This family had enough secrets. What was one more?

"Just sign the papers," he said.

"You'll fight for her?" she asked.

House nodded, relieved when she finally took the pen from him.


	7. Chapter 7

With the papers signed, House headed back to the conference room. Cameron and Foreman had arrived and stood around waiting for him. It also looked as though Cameron had had a chat with her soon to be ex-boyfriend Neil.

"Can I talk to you privately?" she asked, just barely keeping her tone civil.

House turned to leave. "Can't right now. I need to deliver these papers to Cuddy."

Cameron snatched the folder from his hand and shoved it into Foreman's arms. "Foreman can deliver them."

The eyebrows of House, Foreman and Chase reached their hairlines. House pursed his lips and considered the situation. "I really think I should deliver them myself," he said.

"Did you call Neil?" she demanded in a shrill tone. "And tell him there were several very good reasons he didn't want to be involved with me?"

House leaned in and said in a stage whisper, "Not in front of the kids, honey!" He motioned towards Foreman and Chase who both watched the exchange with interest.

She stomped off into his office, and with a shrug in the other two men's direction, he reluctantly followed her. Better late than never went the saying, but right now he would choose never over late.

"Do you know there are 51 Neil and N Jacksons in the area?" he asked, trying to diffuse the situation with some humor. It didn't appear to work though because she just got more irritated.

"Did you call all of them?" she shrieked.

"23 always was my lucky number."

"I cannot believe that you did—no, no I completely believe that you did this," Cameron amended. "He said you told him I had herpes, among other things!"

"He probably won't want you going to LA with him now," House said, trying to sound nonchalant. He sat down on the edge of his desk and watched her pace back and forth across the room.

"House, you cannot do this. You cannot mess with my personal life like this."

He decided it was time to play his trump card. So she didn't want anyone meddling with her life? "Did you know he booked you a ticket to LA with him?"

Her mouth fell open just like he had envisioned. "He what? But he left for LA this morning."

"He meant to give it to you last night at dinner, but you got called away before he could. He wanted you to pick up and leave with him immediately."

"I can't do that. I have a job and friends and—"

"Me. You have me," he told her earnestly. She stared at him, clearly at a loss for words. "Don't worry; I took the trouble of calling the airline and canceling it for you."

"House—"

A knock on the door leading to his balcony interrupted her. Wilson stuck his head in. "I'm back from my conference. How did things go with—oh," he said, glimpsing a very angry Cameron. She stormed out of the office. House let her go, deciding it was better to let her cool off before explaining the inherent sense to his actions. He was only thinking of her. With him. Her and him.

* * *

Cameron stormed from House's office. She didn't think about where she was going. She just walked. And walked. And walked some more. Until she literally walked into Cuddy.

"Dr. Cameron," Cuddy said, starting to walk away, off to whatever meeting she had scheduled, but then she paused. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Cameron nodded, and then reconsidered and shook her head. Cuddy ushered her into a empty room and made her spill her beans. It wasn't hard. Cameron was itching to confess her problems with House to someone who would understand the complexities involved.

"What do you want?" Cuddy asked her.

Cameron shook her head. "I—I'm not sure. I wanted House to notice me and want me for so long that it seems impossible now that I have his attention."

"He just needed something to poke him into action, something to remind him not to take advantage of you," Cuddy suggested. Cameron nodded, taking it all in.

"But how do I keep his interest? I can't threaten to run off to LA every other month."

"Once he has you, he isn't the type to let go," Cuddy told her.

Cameron shook her head. "He left Stacey," she whispered.

"Stacey left him," Cuddy argued. "And in his mind, she betrayed him. He acts arrogant and self-confident but deep down inside is a scared little boy who thinks no one will like him if he turns out to be wrong or if he's not perfect."

"He can't see past his handicap," Cameron said, more to herself than to Cuddy.

"It's a risk you have to decide if you're willing to take. There's no mistake that he is a hard, demanding, and thoroughly irritating man. But you have to admit that there is an intensity of feeling and humanity underneath his cold shell, if you think you can coax it out of him." Cuddy eyed her. "You're the only one I can imagine putting up with him, that's one thing for sure."

"Really?" Cameron asked.

"You've always struck me as a masochist," Cuddy said. She looked at her watch, patted Cameron on the shoulder, wished her luck, and whisked off. Cameron watched as she went and wondered what in the name of anything and everything holy was she going to do.

She was right. Cameron was a masochist. She couldn't help but find the hardest way to do things, even falling in love.

Walking to the OR, she decided to see how Camille's surgery was going. Foreman stood in the gallery. Down below, Chase handed the surgeon the saw.

"Do you think it will work?" Cameron asked.

"Removing her hand or you being with House?" Foreman said, not bothering to take his eyes off the scene before them.

Cameron looked at him in surprise, though she should have been. She had been yelling loud enough in House's office. The whole floor probably heard her side of their argument and could guess at his side's.

"Either. Both," she said.

Foreman looked over at her. "I think it will," he said.

* * *

House sat in his chair, waiting for one of his underlings to tell him about Camille's surgery and listening to his Ipod. Beethoven's fifth rang in his ears, drowning out any distractions like the feel of Cameron's lips on his, or how soft her hair looked, or…

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He reached up and took out one earphone.

"Camille is going to be okay," Cameron said. "With a prosthesis and some physical therapy she'll make a full recovery."

"And her kidneys?" House asked, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Not great, but not hopeless. We're monitoring her progress, but she appears to be getting better. She's off dialysis."

"Good." He waited to hear her walk away but it never came. He opened his eyes to see her still standing there.

"I want you to stay," he said, pausing to take a breath before he continued on, "with me," he finished.

She nodded. "I want to stay too. But I can't continue like this. Something needs to change."

He regarded her seriously. He had been so miserable the last few years of his life that he didn't know how to be anything else, but he knew he wanted her, wanted a chance to make her happy.

"I'm willing to chop off my arm if that's what you mean," he told her.

She smiled and laughed, sitting on the edge of his footstool. She reached out her hand and ran it down his arm. He was glad he had decided on long sleeves that day so she couldn't see the goose bumps that rose up at her touch. "I'd rather you wouldn't. I like your arm."

"Some other appendage then? I'd offer up my leg, but that doesn't seem like much of a sacrifice."

"I even like your leg. How about those high walls you put up to keep everyone out?"

"I've worked very hard on those walls," he said.

"Sometimes you have to give up something in order in order to save something else," Cameron reminded him, leaning in closer. He could smell her perfume and he reveled in the smooth feel of her palm as she cupped his cheek.

"Just for you," he said.

"Just for me," she answered, finally kissing him. This was so much better than the last time. This time she kissed him back. This time she sighed in pleasure when he ran his tongue over her teeth. This time she didn't pull away until they were both breathless. He reached up and grabbed her shoulder to steady them both.

"I'm still not a nice man," he said.

"I don't want to change you, House. I just want to see you for who you are." She ran her hand up and down his chest and he settled his arm around her, cradling her against him. It felt comfortable and right. And in about five minutes, his arm was going to fall asleep and he would have to throw her in the floor. But he decided to worry about that later.

"Whatever happened to Ned?" he asked, changing the subject. It was getting a bit serious around here. They would have plenty of time to talk later about all that.

"Neil," she corrected.

"Whatever. So?"

"He left for LA this morning. He said he hoped I joined him."

"That was it? He can't love you that much."

She laughed. "No, if he really loved me, he would have pleaded with me, called every Greg House in the phonebook, and called the airline to re-book the ticket you cancelled."

"What an amateur," he scoffed. After a pause, he continued, "You don't hate me for all of that, do you?" He didn't think she might since she had just kissed him into oblivion but it didn't hurt to check. He wanted to hear it out loud.

"Strangely enough, I love you for it. I want someone who will fight for me."

"This is your one and only chance to go. I'm not letting go after this," he warned her, squeezing her.

She clutched him tighter. "I don't want you to let go."

They lay like that for several more minutes until it more than House could stand. His arm prickled under her weight. "Okay, I'm letting go, but only in a physical sense."

Cameron laughed and sat up. He rubbed at his arm, trying to get the circulation flowing again.

"I need to go check in on our patient anyway. Meet me in exam room two later?" she asked with a smile. He loved her smile.

"Why there?"

"I think I'm going to need my head checked out," she said with a smirk.

"Only if it's a full exam," he said.

"Oh it will be." She sashayed out of his office, leaving him there thanking any and every god he could think of for the divine luck that brought him Allison Cameron. She made him feel like a new man.

* * *

Camille left later in the day. With her vitals stable, they were transferring her to a rehab clinic closer to her home. House stood in the corner and watched as Cameron and Chase wheeled her downstairs to meet her parents. He didn't normally say much to his patients or their families when they left, but Mrs. Brown approached him.

"I love my husband," she told him. House just nodded. "I always have," she continued. "The other man was just a distraction. If anything it made me realize how much more I loved Rick."

"Right," he said skeptically, but then he glanced over at Cameron who stood at the desk chatting with Yolanda, and wondered how closely mirrored were the two women's situations. "And your daughter?"

"I love her too."

"Then you should talk to her," House suggested.

Mrs. Brown nodded. "I'm sure we'll have a lot to talk about here soon."

With a amputatee, there would be lots to talk about. She would have to earn her daughter's forgiveness first. That he knew from personal experience. But they might make it. Not everyone was like him. And with Cameron promising to "examine" him later, he was feeling unusually optimistic and pleased with the world.

Mrs. Brown joined her husband and her daughter, walking beside them as Mr. Brown wheeled Camille out to the car. House watched them go, and then joined Cameron at the nurses' station.

"I got patients that need seen," Yolanda said, wagging her finger at him as he came up. House shook his head.

"I've got a patient already," he told her.

"She just left," she retorted.

House looked knowingly at Cameron, at Allison. "Not her. In exam room two."

Yolanda narrowed her eyes and muttered an "alright then." House started to walk away, turning around to say, "Dr. Cameron, would you mind consulting?"

"With pleasure," she said with a smile, joining him.

"Make it quick!" Yolanda yelled after them. "I got a bloody diarrhea waiting when you're done."

'Probably will be,' House thought. This time anyway. But he planned on taking Allison home later and showing her just how much he appreciated her sticking around.

Roll Credits.


End file.
